


a phenomenon of light

by aerobreaking



Series: hold on, I still need you [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Child Abandonment, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi, Non-Chronological, Slight Canon Divergence, Suicide Attempt, this...wasn't supposed to be this long...and yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerobreaking/pseuds/aerobreaking
Summary: Iridescence, from the outside looking in. Or alternatively, the things Yuri missed while stuck in his own head.Viktor, Yuuri, and learning to accept that when someone they loved needed them most they weren't there for him.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: hold on, I still need you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728439
Comments: 11
Kudos: 134





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!  
> so i decided to write this because I felt like the story was a little incomplete without telling how iridescence affected the people around Yuri. and lolololol, i didn't realize this until i'd finished it, but i never actually explained why iridescence was called iridescence in the first place so hopefully this fic will clear that up. 
> 
> If you haven't read the first part of this I would suggest you do because if not some things might not make sense. 
> 
> also, biiiggggggg thank you to everyone that left comments and kudos! Thank you, thank you, thank you. I cannot say it enough.

* * *

**All my grief says the same thing:** ****

_ **this isn't how it's supposed to be.** _

_ **this isn't how it's supposed to be.** _ ****

**and the world laughs.**

**holds my hope by the throat.**

**says: _but this is how it is._**

—Fortesa Latifi.

* * *

In Viktor’s dreams, Yuri has flowers in his hair.

At first, he’s just looking up at him with that cocky smile on his face that he’d fallen in love with. He starts saying something but Viktor can’t hear him, he’s opening and closing his mouth but the words are inaudible. At Viktor’s lack of response Yuri slowly grows frustrated and the more he speaks, the angrier he becomes and his face scrunches into a scowl and his eyes burn with indignation. Viktor tries to call out to him but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and his throat is unable to make a sound. Something in Yuri’s face shutters and his face gradually falls into a cold, detached expression. The light in his eyes dims and Victor’s heart sinks.

Yuri shakes his head and mouthes maliciously, baring his teeth, _I hate you._

This, Viktor can clearly understand. His entire body lurches to try to reach him and just as he regains control of his limbs Yuri beings to turn away. _Wa_ _it,_ he wants to scream, _please,_ and he’s reaching to grab his hand—

Viktor blinks and he’s in a maze, searching and searching for—for what? He stops and tries to remember what he’s looking for but he just can’t recall what it is, he looks around him and realizes he’s not in a maze anymore...he’s in a cemetery and he’s looking for—he’s looking for a grave. He’s looking for Yuri’s—

The scene shifts so quickly Viktor is left aimless for a while. Yuuri is beside him, he touches his hand, “Viktor,” He says, his voice sounding like its coming from underwater, “It’s time to let go.” He looks down and this time Yuri’s eyes are closed, his long lashes creating faint shadows against his pale skin, his lips blue, and his face set into a tranquil, peaceful expression. It looks as though he were sleeping. But Viktor steps back and tries to scream—because his heart is trying to escape his ribcage and his world is falling apart—but even as he’s looking down at the casket the sound refuses to release itself from his throat.

There are still flowers in Yuri’s hair.

* * *

Viktor takes one last drag of the cigarette (number seventeen) before he kills it against the wall of the clinic and throws it in a nearby trash can. He pops five mints into his mouth and sprays on some of the cologne he’d recently started carrying in his coat pocket. If there’s anything he’s learned from watching Yakov over the years it’s that it’s always better to disguise the smell. He himself used to cringe when Yakov came too close and he hadn’t done something about the stench. Yet now here he was, partaking in a habit he’d always frowned upon. 

It’s been more than a week since the news dropped and he’d picked up a cigarette from the box Yakov had left in their kitchen table a few days ago. He’s not sure why he did it, it had never really appealed to him, but the box had been there and he just...grabbed one. (That had been cigarette number one.) It’s like a mindless pastime now and who knows? Maybe this was just his own fucked up way of punishing himself for being an absolute idiot. For failing one of the people he loves.

His watch reads 10:57 so he supposes he’s waited long enough. He goes into the building and the receptionist looks up, already nodding to him since he's been here since ten o'clock despite his meeting being scheduled at 11. She gives him a slight smile, and tells him, “She’ll be with you in just a minute.”

He nods and takes a seat in one of the chairs in the lobby, he checks his phone and there’s a message from Yuuri, reminding him to call him once he’s out. _Will do,_ he texts back.

He crosses his legs and pretends to look over something important on his phone but he’s sure the receptionist knows just how anxious he is. A few minutes pass in complete silence but then the door is opening and his name is being called. 

“Hello,” The woman says as he makes his way into the room. She extends her hand, “Dr. Ibraginov, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello,” He responds, shaking her hand and introducing himself. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

She nods, “Ahh, yes, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Viktor would make a joke but he doesn’t quite know if what she’s heard is anything good. 

“You can take a seat,” She says, motioning him to the couch and he sits, wondering just how many times Yuri has been in this same exact couch, pouring his thoughts out to a stranger because he couldn’t trust them. (And that—that’s quite unfair, but Viktor can’t help his thought process from going in that direction.)

“So,” She beings, “What would you like to discuss?”

He looks her in the eye, and plainly says, “Yuri.” 

“Yes, Yakov did mention you wanted to be informed about his progress.”

“Can you tell me what’s been going on with him?”

She looks at him clinically, “Mr. Nikiforov, I understand you are concerned about him, however, I cannot discuss his situation without his permission. As I’ve told Yakov—“

“—I know what you’ve told Yakov but I’m here to discuss the things you _can_ tell me.”

She sighs, almost exasperated, “Alright, here’s what I can tell you, he’s severely depressed and he’s been prescribed medication. He’s getting better.”

Viktor stares at her, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn’t, instead, she raises her eyebrow at him as if waiting for him to challenge her. He takes in a deep breath because he’s really not here to argue or get into a discussion with Yuri’s therapist.

“Okay,” He says, standing up, “I’ll get him to sign an exclusion.”

“I would advise against it.” Dr. Ibraginov says, her voice sharp, “If you want him to trust you, this will be the worst route to go through.”

“You’re giving me no other choice!” Viktor very nearly shouts, his patience thinning. “You won’t tell me what’s going on with him and fucking—“ He stops abruptly, catching himself before he takes out his frustration on the one person that least deserved it, he takes a deep breath and then continues, “And Yakov didn’t call us when he should have.”

She holds his gaze without flinching and waits for him to either storm out or calm down. It’s physically painful to reign in his irritation but somehow Viktor manages it. His shoulders slump, though he can still feel the tension running down his muscles.

“Take a seat, Mr. Nikiforov,” She says, after a while, her voice softening, “ And let _me_ tell you what you _can_ do.”

And he does, because it’s not about him, it’s about Yuri and Viktor is willing to do anything for him if it means it’ll help him.

“I know you’re frustrated,” She begins, “And I know you think you need to know everything so you can somehow...understand why Yuri did what he did. But even if you knew it, even if you had known his every thought, you wouldn't have been able to stop him.” Viktor takes in a sharp breath, “He would have found an opportunity and done it. What we need to focus on, is the fact that he _isn’t_ looking for an opportunity right now. He’s doing his best, have you noticed?”

He nods, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. 

“He needs you,” She honestly tells him, “He needs your support and to know that you’re _there_ for him.”

“Are you saying we made him feel like we weren’t there for him before?” He looks up.

She gives him a little smile, “Nice try, but we’re not discussing what he felt _before._ ”

Viktor almost snorts because he really wasn’t trying to dig but amusement has been something he hasn’t been feeling at all lately. “So, what else do we do?”

“Give him space and trust him enough to know that if and when he’s ready to tell you what's been going through his head he will.” Dr. Ibraginov looks at him and tells him, sincerely, “The coming months won’t be easy, there will be good days and there will be bad days, so I suppose I should also tell you to be prepared. For whatever may come.” 

Viktor nods, “Alright, thank you.” He pauses then says, “And sorry, for earlier.”

“It’s quite alright, there have been worse things.” She pauses, and looks away as if debating something in her mind, eventually she says, “Now, if I may be so bold, I’d like to say something to you.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, “Sure. Speak freely.”

“Guilt can be a slow and lethal poison. I hope you’re talking to someone about it.”

He almost gapes, because he really wasn’t here to be evaluated or probed but he supposes he can appreciate her concern, “I...my husband and I are...working through it.”

She nods, “Well, I’m glad that’s the case. However, if you ever feel like you need to speak to someone I can refer you to one of my colleagues.”

“Duly noted.” 

He leaves her office feeling a bit better and he pauses before getting in his car. He supposes he can be glad that she’s the one who’s helping Yuri even if he can’t. Though the thought that Yuri couldn’t trust them still makes him feel like he’s failed as a lover and a friend. He calls Yuuri, hoping he catches him at a good time since he’s probably busy with the competition. He picks up on the third ring and Viktor explains what Dr. Ibraginov had said.

Yuuri sighs on the other line, probably feeling the same frustration Viktor felt earlier, he asks,“Where is he now?”

“He said he was going to the studio.” 

“Has he been eating?”

“Yes, I’ve been making sure.” 

“I wish I didn’t have to be here,” Yuuri admits, finally, and Viktor can hear the guilt in his voice. “I really didn’t want to leave him.”

“It’s fine, only four more days, then you can come back. He’s been feeling guilty about what happened when you left.”

“And I’ve been feeling guilty about _everything_ ,” His voice cracks at the end, “I feel like absolute shit.”

Viktor leans against his car, running a hand through his hair, “I do too.”

“There are moments when I think I’m going to wake up and he—and he’s not going to be there. I keep thinking—what—what would I do—Viktor I don’t—“

“I know.” He cuts, “I know.”

_I don’t think I could go on either,_ he thinks.

“But we have to be grateful,” Viktor tells him, his voice trembling and remembering what Dr. Ibraginov had said about Yuri not looking for an opportunity, “Because he’s still here. We have to—we have to be thankful for that.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, his voice thick with tears, “We do.”

* * *

Yuuri first gets the inkling something is wrong in August. Incidentally, it’s not the first time he’s noticed it but it is the first time he’s noticed the _frequency_ of it. Yuri has been acting a little off. 

It’s not instantly noticeable because even _Viktor_ hasn’t noticed. Which makes Yuuri think that maybe he’s imagining things but the more he pays attention, the more he realizes that yes, something is not quite right. 

Yuri has always been a very disciplined person when it comes to his training, early in the mornings he’ll take Tsar and go on five-mile runs every day before eight o’clock. This is the first thing that tips Yuuri’s suspicion off. Yuri hasn’t been running as much lately, it’s not...a huge deal but he still notices it. 

The next thing he notices is that Yuri has been sleeping a lot more than usual. He sleeps in more, goes to sleep earlier, and on weekends when he doesn’t train he can be found taking long naps in the middle of the day. It’s _not_ a big deal.

He’s spacing out a lot, his concentration is all over the place, he’s eating just a little less, and he spends a lot more time mindlessly scrolling through his phone rather than playing video games or reading. And _again_ it’s not a big deal. It’s not. But Yuuri can’t help but be a little miffed by the slight differences. Its as if someone moved all the furniture three inches to the right. Something just feels off.

“Do you think Yura’s been acting strange lately?” He asks his husband. He wants reassurance that either he’s right or if maybe he’s just losing his mind.

Viktor looks up from his tablet, and tilts his head to the side, thinking, “He seems more tired than usual.”

“Why do you think that is?” He presses.

Viktor just shrugs, “Maybe Yakov’s been harsher than usual?”

Yuuri hums but doesn’t really agree with the assessment since Yuri doesn’t seem to be doing anything extraneous when they’re at the rink. He lets it go, though, there are other things that he has to focus on now, and he’s sure Yuri will talk to them about it if he needs to. (Later, much later, months from now, he’ll regret this decision. He’ll cry about it, hate himself over it, and think, _I should’ve done something more._ )

Things are still a little off, but Yuri doesn’t seem different in any other ways so life goes on as usual. Viktor and he go back to Japan from September through November and the problem fades under their hectic schedules. By the end of November, though, his suspicion spikes again. Yuri has been having trouble sleeping, he tosses and turns for hours before he gives up, gets up from bed, and goes to the living room. It’s a stark difference from months earlier when he could barely keep himself from falling asleep. More than once Yuuri wakes up to make breakfast and he finds him already awake, scrolling through his phone, bags under his eyes so deep they almost look bruised. 

This time, Viktor does notice, and he keeps shooting the blond concerned looks every moment he gets. They try asking him about it, but Yuri just shrugs it off telling them he’ll take sleeping pills. But that’s not the issue, still, once again, they let it go. ( _Here_ , Yuuri will think back, _this was the last deciding moment and we didn’t do anything about it. Because we were too busy looking the other way._ )

The Grand Prix takes place from the fifth to the eight of December and Yuuri and Viktor are too focused on other things that they don’t have time to even relax. It’s always nerve-wracking even when they’re not the ones competing. Yuri has been acting perfectly normal so he thinks maybe he really was just imagining things or that the issue had resolved itself.

When it’s all over, Yuri spends the last couple of days with them before they have to leave for Japan. They invite him to come with them for the holidays so that he can take a break before Worlds, but Yuri refuses. He says he’ll take a break over the weekend but other than that he expects to go back to training on Monday. (Yuuri should have insisted more, he should have been pushier, he should have _seen_ it coming. That’s all he can think about for a long time afterward; _I should’ve known._ )

Yuri catches them completely off guard, because the last night, he gives them a shy smile and tells them, for the first time, that he loves them. Yuuri cries in the restroom afterward because it’s the first time he actually said it, because they have been waiting so _long_ to hear those words.Yuuri has always known that Yuri doesn’t often express his honest feelings with words but he knows Yuri cares about them. But to actually _hear_ the words being spoken from his mouth, with his voice, of his own accord, is entirely too overwhelming for him. It solidifies the feeling that he won’t be able to live without Yuri just as he can’t be without his husband. Because it’s been hard, the whole long-distance thing. He doesn’t like it, he’s sure Viktor doesn’t either, but they’ve talked about it, they’re going to get a house in St. Petersburg in two years, he thinks, _just a little longer and then we’ll all be together._

Over the weekend, Yuri doesn’t pick up any of their calls. 

He practically bites his entire nails off because he’s anxious, something isn’t right. Yuri would never not pick up their calls and if he missed them he would call back soon. 

“I’m really worried,” He tells Viktor, “Why isn’t he picking up?”

“I’ll try Yakov,” Viktor says, his own worry reflecting heavily on his demeanor. Yuuri hovers close to him when he makes the call, glad his Russian has improved enough that he doesn't have to wait for Viktor to translate for him.

“Have you talked to Yura?” Viktor asks his former mentor as soon as the older man picks up.

Yakov remains deathly quiet on the other line and for a moment Yuuri thinks the call must’ve dropped. But no, the call is still connected, “Well?” Viktor presses, his tone taking on a hard edge. “We’ve been calling and calling and he doesn’t pick up.”

A humorless laugh escapes Yakov’s throat, and he and Viktor share a glance, “Yuri’s fine. He’s just...give me a second—“ He speaks to someone though they can’t really make out who, for a moment there’s a tense silence. Then Yakov continues, “When are you coming back to Russia?”

“In June, maybe, we’re still not sure, why?”

Yakov sighs heavily, “Look, Yuri will give you a call back soon. He’s just...he’s fine. But you should consider coming back earlier.”

Yuuri’s glad to be reassured that Yuri is okay, but now he’s confused, there’s something the older man is clearly not telling them. Viktor says his goodbyes and hangs up, he looks to Yuuri as if he’ll make something of the situation but he can’t offer anything. For the next few hours, they just mull over the conversation with Yakov and just wait for Yuri’s call.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Yuri calls.

“Why haven’t you picked up?” Viktor immediately questions, “We’ve been calling you for two days!”

“Sorry,” Yuri says, his voice sounding hoarse and groggy as if he was just waking up, “I—Lilia and I went to a lodge in the mountains and there was no signal.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” His husband snaps back, “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Sorry,” He says again, subdued in a way that Yuuri hasn’t heard in a long time, “It slipped my mind.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Yura,” Viktor curses, “Please think about us in the future before you go into a sabbatical retreat.”

“I said I was sorry, what more do you want?” Yuri questions, his voice still weary.

“Oh, don’t—“ Viktor starts but Yuuri rests a hand on his shoulder to stop him, he shakes his head, “Let me talk to him.” 

“Hey, it’s me.” Yuuri greets, “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” 

“Are you sure?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Yuuri holds his breath, hoping— _please talk to us—_ but Yuri doesn’t let his walls down, “Katsudon, I’m _fine_.” And the way he says it, low and eerily calm, reminds him of the time when Yuri injured himself and was barely out of the hospital, still disoriented because of the painkillers. His heart races a little, there’s something wrong, he’s sure of it now. 

“Okay,” He lies, “I believe you.”

“We have to go see him,” Yuuri tells Viktor as soon as he hangs up.

“But we _just_ came back.”

“I-I know. I know. But maybe we can go a couple of weeks after Worlds rather than in June.”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“I-I don’t know. Hopefully nothing serious.”

Viktor sighs, rubbing his forehead, “I’m really worried, too. He’s a brat but he doesn’t usually forget to tell us when he’s going to be unavailable. And two days is a too long time to forget to mention it.”

As the days go by, Yuuri is distracted enough that he tries not to think too much of the situation. The kids will notice if their coach isn’t concentrating and the last thing he wants is to be the reason they don’t give their best. So he shoves his concern down as best he can and it eases greatly because they talk to Yuri every day and the two days that they didn’t hear anything from him slowly fade into the back of his mind.

But a few weeks later, when they’ve barely started FaceTiming for the day something strange happens. Viktor is laughing about Yuri cooking and something strange crosses his younger lover’s face, he turns away and when he turns back, his face is deathly pale, Yuri says with a clipped tone, “I have to go. See you guys later.”

It leaves them confused and when they try calling back, he doesn’t answer. It isn’t until the next day when they hear back from him and Yuri tells them he ate some bad food but the lie is horribly bad and they don’t believe him for a second.

It’s after this that Lilia calls Viktor, she’s upset but she asks the same questions Yakov did and when they tell her they’re planning on going a few weeks after Worlds she just tersely says, “I see.” 

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Viktor asks his fist clenching and unclenching at his side as in an effort to calm himself down.

“I don’t think you should be leaving Yuri by himself right now.” She ambiguously tells them and says her goodbye.

His worry finally breaches into panicked territory when Yuri tells them he’s taking a break. Viktor and he are too shocked and too bewildered to try to convince him otherwise. Yuuri instantly starts looking over their schedule, trying to rearrange it so they’ll be able to go St. Petersburg sooner. He manages to carve out four days from February 27th to March 2nd for Yuri’s birthday. The sacrifice is that Viktor won’t make it until March 1st but it’s a gamble they’re willing to play into. 

February cannot pass quickly enough. Over the coming weeks, he notices Yuri’s face more when they’re FaceTiming. He looks thinner, his cheeks pale, and he seems to always be in bed every time they call. He talks to them about the books he’s reading with a sort of detached monotone drone rather than the impassioned tangents he used to go on when he found a book particularly good or, even better, _bad_. Soon, though, he’s boarding the plane and is relieved to finally be on his way to find out what’s been going on.

When he reaches their St. Petersburg home, it’s empty. Tsar and Potya are the ones that are there to greet him, and he supposes that’s to be expected since they hadn’t informed Yuri he was coming. He’s tired but it’s barely five so he decides to make dinner for when Yuri comes back. But an hour passes, then two, then three and Yuri still isn’t home. It makes him chew on his already blunt nails.

Finally, he hears the lock on the door turning and Yuri coming in. 

“Shit, it’s cold.” He hears him complain and then to Potya and Tsar, “Hello, my darlings! How have you been today? You didn’t feel lonely while I was gone?” Yuuri almost wants to laugh, because Yuri isn’t even that openly affectionate with them. “Up you go princess, and you, your highness, please don’t chew on my sweater.”

“Surprise!” Yuuri finally pokes his head out of the kitchen and Yuri is looking at him in complete wonder.

The blond’s arms fall to his side, and Potya jumps out running off with Tsar following closely behind her.

“Katsudon,” He hears Yuri say in a whisper and he’s already taking a step toward him, “Where’s Viktor?”

“He’s coming Saturday morning, we didn’t want you to spend your birthday alone.”

In the next second, Yuri’s body is slamming into his chest and he holds him to not lose his footing.“Hey-hey, it’s okay.” He tells him, “It’s alright.” He pulls away just a little to look at him but Yuri is leaning up, kissing him deeply, as if trying to devour him. And the thing—the thing that breaks Yuuri’s heart is that Yuri is suddenly sobbing. He whispers against his lips, “What’s wrong, Yura? What’s the matter?”

“Missed you,” He says, his voice shuddering, “Missed you so much.”

Everything blurs together after that because Yuri is so desperate to take his clothes off he doesn’t even give Yuuri a chance to really ask him what’s going on. They fall into their bed together and he has to place all his worry on the back of his mind, just for right now, because Yuri is asking him to wreck him and Yuuri has never been able to say no to that. 

As he runs his hands through his body he notices the outline of his ribs, the jut of his hips that’s more pronounced, and realizes suddenly, with trepidation, that Yuri has lost an alarming amount of weight. He wipes away his tears and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that _something_ has been making Yuri miserable and he wasn’t with him. Yuuri knows, instinctively, that whatever has been going on is serious. Very serious.

So just for the next few moments he’ll distract him, he’ll make him forget what’s been tormenting him, but he’ll get his answers. He has to. Yuri evades, though. But he promises to tell him after Viktor comes so he’ll bite his tongue and be patient. Just a little longer.

In the days that follow Yuri takes him out, he even shows him what he’s been up to learning at the ballroom dancing studio. It’s actually quite nice to watch him dance and the way he moves makes him want to ask Yuri to do it in private, where he can appreciate the elegant lines of his body without anything obstructing his view.

The day before Yuri’s birthday, Yuuri gives him an early present by going down on him twice and then making him cum without touching him. 

“You’re sadistic as shit, Katsudon,” Yuri tells him, later, out of breath and panting.

“You didn’t like it?” He innocently asks, kissing his sweaty forehead.

Yuri rolls his eyes as he moves to move closer to him and instead of answering says, “You better cook me something good in the morning.”

“Anything for the birthday boy.” He teases but he’s already thinking of the foods with the highest calories that he can get away with feeding him.

His world kind of falls apart the next morning though. He’s in the kitchen with the news turned on when it starts. “The following video might be highly sensitive to some of our viewers, discretion is advised.” He looks at it for a moment not quite getting what’s going on until he hears the words Yuri Plisetsky and suicide in the same sentence. 

Something inside him shrivels up in horror and the mug he’s holding slips out of his hand. 

_It’s not real,_ he thinks, _It can’t be._

But it is.

It is and Yuri didn’t tell them. It is and he kept it a secret from them. It is and Yuri’s been suffering all alone and _they hadn’t noticed_. It’s real. And it happened. 

It’s real and it happened to someone he loves.

* * *

Things with Viktor had been passionate and quick because Yuuri had always longed for him, always admired him, it was like he was the moon, and Yuuri was the man stuck on earth trying to reach him. But somehow—against all expectation—he’d managed to charm the moon and it had come down to earth to meet him. Of course, Yuuri had been completely swept off his feet and been pulled up into his orbit. 

But if Viktor was his moon then Yuri—Yuri was the _sun_. 

He’s always been there, burning brightly and always present in his periphery. But the thing with the sun is that its heat and intensity was too much if one got too close they’d be incinerated. Like Icarus, he’d melt their wings off if they tried to reach him without his permission. He guards his heart in a fortress of fire and sulfur and even those close to him get singed when he flares if they’re not careful. 

But he is radiant, his hair like spun gold, and Yuuri is unable to live without him. 

So then, when—when did Yuri implode into a supernova?

And how could Viktor and Yuuri miss it? How could they have not noticed that their Sun had been dying under the weight of its own gravitational pull and torn itself apart? Better yet, how could they have missed the catastrophic explosion and been unaware of the cloud of iron and chaos that had he’d turn into?

Yuuri begins to think over every single memory he has from the last year, he combs through them in a fixated, obsessive, frantic fashion. Trying desperately to understand where they went wrong. He second-guesses every interaction Yuri had with them. He thinks of that day in December when he told them he loved them, had that been Yuri’s way of saying goodbye? If the universe hadn’t intervened, was that the last time they were _ever_ going to see him? How long had Yuri been thinking of—thinking of doing that?

The pain, the shame, the crushing guilt weighs him down until he’s drowning. 

* * *

Viktor is halfway into his flight when the news breaks. His phone starts blowing up and insistently vibrating in his pocket. For a while he ignores it but it keeps vibrating until he’s sighing in annoyance and taking it out to silence it. He squints his eyes in the dark to clearly see what’s going on and sees that each of the Nishigori triples has sent him a link to a twitter account over and over again. He clicks it.

_Congratulations to Yuri Plisetsky for making it to twenty-three after trying to kill himself on Dec. 13th. LOL. What a drama king._

His heart sinks when he reads the caption. And then is immediately pulling out his earphones to listen to it. As he watches it he feels faint and it’s enough to make him sick, he has to practically run to the restroom because he feels nauseous enough to throw up. Suddenly _everything_ is making sense, Yakov’s and Lilia’s insistence that they come back sooner, Yuri’s weird attitude, and the sudden, out-of-nowhere break.

Tears well up in his eyes. How could have he been so careless?

He knew, _he knew_ what it was like at the top. He knew what could happen when it feels as though there’s nothing else to strive for and the fear that coils the heart of being not good enough. But he’d always—he’d aways believed Yuri was different from him. He—no. _No_ , Yuri _isn’t_ him. They’re similar in many ways, but they are _not_ the same person, they don’t have the same history and motivations. 

Lilia had told him once, her gaze vicious and her voice sharp, after he’d gone back to Russia years ago when Yuri was still sixteen, _He is not your replacement, he is not your protégé, you lost that privilege the moment you undermined his determination. Everything Yuri has and will accomplish will NOT have your name attached to it, I can promise you that. I will make sure of it._

And so it had been since Agape none of Yuri’s choreography or music have been linked back to him. Yuri never asked for his help again and Viktor was too much of a coward to offer it. Everything Yuri has gained has been because of his own tenaciousness, Viktor has done nothing but support him because that’s all Yuri allowed him to do.

So there has to be more, there has to be something else. Something that Yuri had never permitted them to see. 

The next four hours are absolute torture for him. He cannot sit still and he just _needs_ to get home. He has to see Yuri, he has to touch him and see with his own eyes that he’s fine. That he’s alive. That he’s _still_ there, at home, waiting for him.

When he finally, _finally_ arrives, he finds Yuuri clinging to Yuri on the floor of their living room and the relief that floods him at seeing him, _alive, he’s alive, he’s alive,_ is enough to make him weak in the knees. He gathers them in his arms, kissing Yuri’s hair and saying, “My Yurochka, I am _so_ sorry.” _For not noticing, for not being here for you, for not realizing just how much pain you’ve been in that you thought the only way out was like...like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t do_ anything _, I’m sorry I couldn't stop and understand, I’m sorry you’ve felt so alone, and you’ve been hurting and_ I didn’t know.

When the frantic calls and questions reach a lull, Yuri tells them that he’s on antidepressants and that he’s been going to therapy since it happened. “I’m a lot better now.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Yuuri asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

He gives them a small, heartbreaking smile, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

But the words sting, the words burn, they _wound_ , because Yuri hadn’t trusted them enough to admit to them what was happening. Because he had felt like they weren’t reliable enough to talk to, like they weren’t going to pay attention.

When Yuri falls asleep, he lays between them, and they watch him breathe, they observe the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest and it’s all too much. It’s all too overwhelming

Yuuri breaks down, his tears are silent and his sobs pained. “Why? Why—how did we not—how did it _slip_ our notice?”

Viktor doesn’t have an answer and they both just fall into a deep, heavy silence. Viktor can’t hold his own tears back and he has to take Yuri’s hand and feel for a pulse so he’s sure, so he’s certain that he’s still alive. Every night from then on, that’s how he falls asleep, with Yuri’s hand on his own, listening to his even breathing, and his fingers pressed to the steady pulse that lulls him to sleep.

They decide that they’re not leaving him alone, it won’t be easy, but Yuri is their main priority for the time being. Because he needs them, even if he won’t say it.

So even when Yuuri has to go to Worlds and Yuri is angry they don’t trust him, Viktor doesn’t leave him alone. He waits for him to fall asleep every night and then he’ll climb into bed after him, reaching for his hand and finding his pulse. For about two days, Yuri ignores his entire existence until one day when he comes back from therapy with bloodshot eyes and blotched cheeks.

“It’s okay, my Yurochka.” He says, as Yuri buries his face on the crook of his neck and is apologizing. 

“Just because I’m having a horrible time doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you,” He says.

Viktor nods, “You’re forgiven, then. I accept your apology.”

He hugs him tightly, glad that he’s no longer ignoring him. But the truth is, even though he’d gone to speak to Dr. Ibraginov he still wants to shake Yuri’s shoulders and beg, on his knees, for forgiveness, and for Yuri to trust him. 

_Trust me,_ he wants to cry, _I’m willing to do anything for you._

It’s agonizing to act rational, because all he wants to do is breakdown but Yuri doesn’t need to see his ugliness, Viktor wants to be a strong pillar of support, not an anchor that will weigh him down. So over the coming days that Yuuri is away, he’ll sit quietly with Yuri’s head on his lap, running his fingers through his hair until he falls into a deep, peaceful sleep.

He begins to notice something strange though, every time he turns the channel to watch the competitions Yuri always leaves the room or suddenly says he’s going to the studio. It makes him panic because he wants to know immediately what the problem is but Dr. Ibraginov’s words ringing in his ears make him abruptly stop the questions from spilling from his lips. 

So instead of following after him, instead of demanding answers, he’ll go up to the roof to smoke.(The count is thirty-three now.)

When Yuuri comes back, things seem to be at more ease, though Yuuri still cries when Yuri falls asleep. He tends to get excessively worried when Yuri is at the dance studio or at therapy and he’s chewed off his nails until they’re constantly bleeding and Viktor has to have a serious talk with him about his anxiety.

“He’s going to notice,” He tells him, as he applies antibacterial cream to the tips of his fingers. “You have to stop.”

“I know—I’m just—“ Yuuri stammers and then pauses, trying to keep his breathing even. “Sorry.”

He kisses his hands, “You don’t have to be sorry, I just don’t want you hurting yourself anymore.” He pulls out a squishy toy he’d picked up at the store earlier that day, “Here, maybe this will help.”

Yuuri looks a the odd, potato-looking thing, he gives a little laugh, “What is this?”

“It’s like a stress ball.”

“Ahhh,” Yuuri says, already beginning to squeeze it as if his life depended on it.

Thankfully, it does help. Yuuri still panics when Yuri is out of his sight but his nails heal and reach an unsuspicious length, he also finally decides to ask for a reference from Dr. Ibraginov at Viktor’s insistence and is prescribed pills for his anxiety. Over the coming month, things get just a _little_ better. Yuuri and he come up with a schedule that will let one of them stay with Yuri in St. Petersburg. It’ll greatly dig into their savings but who cared about money? All the money in the world would not bring Yuri back if he decided to...look for an opportunity again. So it doesn’t matter. 

He goes back to Japan in April and that’s when the nightmares start. They’re debilitating, emotionally draining things and he can’t seem to be able to escape them when he closes his eyes.  Exhaustion ruining him, he hasn't been able to sleep more than two hours consecutively and it's starting to cloud his emotions.  He doesn’t like the loneliness he feels and a knot lodges itself in his throat because this is how it had been for Yuri for so _long_ and he’d never said anything. He’s beginning to realize a lot of things, now that he lays awake at night running away from his terrors. (And his cigarette count spikes to 197.) He’s always been selfish, a product of—a lot of things—but this is the first time he’s truly confronted with the fact that his selfishness had caused something of this magnitude.

It doesn’t do much for his self-esteem. 

Yuuri sends him Snaps of Yuri arguing on the phone with one of his classmates, _Look,_ Yuuri’s message reads, _He’s arguing about books again._ In the video, Yuri looks close to tearing out his hair, “No-no! Absolutely wrong! Fuck Tolstoy!” He’s shouting to his phone, “Anna Karenina is the worst piece of literature my eyes have ever had the misery of reading.”

“Wasn’t that your grandfather’s favorite novel?” Yuuri asks.

Yuri looks up to stare directly at the camera and he flicks it off, “We’re not going there!” He whisper shouts to Yuuri and Viktor hears his husband snigger loudly. Yuri turns back to his phone, “ _What?_ No! Look—“

Viktor laughs, glad to see Yuri’s raging fire after so long without it. Yuri enjoyed arguing about books, this is something he had only learned after they began dating before Viktor would have _never_ expected Yuri to be an avid reader. But Nikolai Plisetsky’s influence was a lot greater than he realized and Yuri had a deep appreciation for Russian Literature even though his taste in books differed from his grandfather’s.

His nightmares mellow when he goes back to Russia and he’s able to once again take Yuri’s hand in his and feel the pulse of his heart against his fingertips. When Yuuri is in Japan, he calls Yuri often, and Viktor is a little worried that maybe he’ll spiral back into a ball of anxiousness but Yuuri seems to be handling the aloneness much better than he did.

“I think you should ask Dr. Ibraginov for a reference too,” Yuuri tells him, one day, “She knows our situation and I think...we all have a lot to gain from seeking help. Yuri’s doing his best, it’s only fair that we do our best too.”

So Viktor does go talk to her and she sends him to Dr. Lebedev. “He was my mentor, so I know he’ll be able to help you.”

Dr. Lebedev turns out to be a taciturn, no-nonsense man—worse than _Yakov—_ that makes Viktor understand a lot of things and doesn't let him look away from his...character flaws. The older man had given him a stony, unimpressed look when he tried to be charming about the whole situation on their first meeting. 

“Ahh,” He said, his eyes critically looking Viktor from head to toe, “So this is the type of person you are.”

“Excuse me?” Viktor questioned, his smile falling just a bit.

Dr. Levedev laced his fingers together, “Before we begin, I want to know if you’re willing to be honest with yourself?”

Viktor slowly nods, “Yes, I want to be.”

“Alright.” Dr. Levedev said and that was the last time Viktor can say they had a civil conversation since he’s not very nice and doesn’t shy away from ripping Viktor’s entire personality apart. Viktor isn’t used to this kind of treatment and maybe that’s what he _needs._

Therapy is _not_ fun but it does help him cope with the severe guilt he has about Yuri’s suicide attempt. It also helps him begin taking measures to be a better person in general. Like taking little notes on his phone about things that are important and he shouldn’t be forgetting about. Especially now that he doesn’t have Yuuri at his side to remind him. 

(Unfortunately, the cigarettes still continue to be a nasty comfort and the count reaches 236 by the tail end of May.)

Eventually, Yuri finally admits to him why he refused to get on the ice and he manages to not say something absolutely tactless in the wake of Yuri’s fears. Viktor’s eyes open to the extent of the things going on in Yuri’s head and it breaks his heart a little. He wonders how long Yuri’s been thinking things like that. He forgets, sometimes, that Yuri doesn’t deal well with vulnerability but he’s glad that one more piece of the puzzle has been revealed. 

Over the coming months, things become much more peaceful. Yuri has gained more weight and his cheeks aren’t as sunken in as they used to be. At first, it had been a little amusing that Yuri hadn’t noticed it until it was pointed out, then the amusement turned to misery after realizing that Yuri had been _so_ depressed he had not noticed his weight loss. Yuri finally reaches his normal weight over the summer when they’re in Japan and he manages to cajole Viktor into giving him nightly massages after he spends his days hiking. 

One morning, he wakes up to an empty bed. He looks around the apartment but finds neither of his lovers and he gives Yuri a call.

“Where are you guys?” He asks when he picks up.

“The rink,” Yuri answers.

“What are you doing there?”

“Sucking dick, obviously,” Yuri says, seriously. 

Viktor almost snorts, “And I didn’t get invited? After all the massages I’ve given you.”

“Nope.”

“That’s so rude. What time are you coming back?”

“I don’t know. When I get sick of skating, probably.” The statement is meant to be taken quite literally since Yuri can’t last more than fifteen minutes in the rink without breaking out into hives. That means they’ll be back in less than an hour or so. That gives him enough time to smoke cigarette number 297 before they get back with time to spare. 

“I’ll get breakfast started then.” 

“Katsudon says to take the chicken out of the freezer and to take out the recycling.”

Viktor opens the fridge and notices they’re running low on eggs, “Okay. Buy eggs. And syrup.”

“Okay. We’ll stop by the store.”

“Love you, bye.”

Yuri stays quiet on the other end of the line for a few seconds before he also says it, “Love you too.”

Viktor has been saying the words to him a little more than usual lately and they still seem to catch Yuri off guard every time. He’s come to realize that he wants it to explicitly known that he loves Yuri every day, all the time, just as much as he loves Yuuri. Before he thought that it didn’t need to be said often, he thought that if he said it too much the words would lose their meaning, but that’s all bullshit. He would prefer Yuri to know it rather than downplay his importance in Viktor’s life, he’s had enough of that.

In August, Yuri and Yuuri both leave back to Russia without him, he kisses them both, the ache of longing settling in his heart as soon as he lets them go but he just waves goodbye to them before taking off. Viktor isn’t asleep when Yuuri calls just a few days after they’ve left. He’s actually shuffling around paperwork that he’s been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. His phone lights up and he’s a little surprised Yuuri’s calling so late.

“Vik-Viktor,” Yuuri sobs into the receiver and Viktor’s heart plummets, his mind already thinking the worst. _No, please nonononono,_ he frantically thinks, _please don’t let it be Yuri. Please. Please._

“What’s wrong?” He asks, standing up from the desk. His heart in his throat, “Did Yuri—“ _Try again. Did he succeed this time?_ Bile rises up his throat, _this can’t be happening_ , Yuri’s cheeky smile at the airport flashes in the back of his mind, and the terrible word leaves Viktor’s mouth, “Suicide?”

“No-no!” Yuuri shouts through his tears, stumbling over his words, trying to calm himself and Viktor down at the same time, “Oh no, that’s not it. I’m-I’m so-sorry Vitya _no._ Yuri’s fine. Sorry. He’s fine. He’s asleep.”

The relief Viktor feels is debilitating and his knees give out from under him, he slides down to the floor in a heap of limbs. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest but the overwhelming tension recedes. “Okay,” He hears himself say, his voice shaking. “Okay.”

“I-I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Viktor runs a hand over his face, “It’s fine. I just—I—jumped to conclusions too quickly.” 

“N-no.” Yuuri takes a deep steadying breath on the other end of the line, “I should’ve—I should’ve calmed down a little before calling.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Viktor, you have to come immediately.” His husband says and Viktor doesn’t wait for an explanation before he’s willing himself off the floor and opening his laptop to book the soonest flight. 

“What happened?”

Yuuri tells him of the things that had happened earlier that night. He tells him about the things Yuri had confessed in an alcohol-induced haze. Viktor’s fingers freeze over the keyboard when Yuuri tells him of the deep-rooted misery Yuri has been living under because of him. He tells Viktor of the child that’s in an orphanage, he tells him about all the things Yuri said about deserving love, about how desperate he was to be loved that he instinctively tried to please because he didn’t want to be abandoned. 

“Even—even after all this time,” Yuuri says, choking on his tears, “He still thinks we’re going to leave him.”

After Yuuri hangs up, Viktor chain-smokes cigarettes number 351 to 357. The apartment stinks by the time he’s done and he can’t bring himself to care about it despite the fact that he’d been so careful to not leave traces of his vice in the place he shared with the people he loved. Who cared about it? Just _who_ cared at this point?

He barely registers the flight to Russia, the whole trip blurs into a mesh of colors and noises. When he makes it to their St. Petersburg apartment, it’s nearing four o’clock and Yuuri is there waiting for him and they hug each other tightly as if the other was the only lifeline in the ocean they were drowning in. If Yuuri notices the smell of cigarettes on him, then he makes no comment about it. He had caught Viktor smoking once or twice and though he’d told him to stop he didn’t press the issue. So Viktor kept doing it.

“He’s meeting with the caseworker,” Yuuri tells him when he asks were Yuri is. “He’ll be back soon, I think.”

“Ah, I see.”

“He—he talked to me. Today. About a lot of stuff and I—I never realized just...just how _bad_ things had been for him. But,” He gives Viktor a tentative smile, “I think he finally trusts me. And I think—I think he trusts you too. So just give him time.”

After taking a quick shower, he cannot sit still so he goes up to the roof and lights a smoke. A while later, Yuri comes to stand next to him, his face scrunching in distaste when he sees Viktor smoking. 

“Since when do you smoke?” He asks.

Viktor sighs, “Everyone has a vice, Yura.”

“Yeah,” He snaps, “Except yours is shopping, not smoking.”

Viktor almost wants to laugh at that because he’s not as faultless as people make him out to be, he shrugs instead, “Never too late to start.”

“It’s never too late to stop either,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes, he plucks cigarette number 362—the last cigarette he will ever smoke—from Viktor’s fingers and stomps it dead, his eyes shine menacingly in the light of the setting sun, “Stop being an idiot.”

They descend into silence and Viktor just takes a moment to take Yuri in. His hair shines like gold, his eyes like emeralds, and he’s looking up at him with his chin tilted up in defiance and it reminds Viktor of a much younger, much more hopeful Yuri. The one who’d looked up to him, the one who’s little heart had been broken by his idol, the one who felt betrayed and abandoned and _still_ managed to defy all expectations. 

“Sorry I drank your precious vodka,” Yuri says as if trying to distract him from the conversation that’s long overdue. 

“That’s the least of my worries,” He answers.

Yuri bites his lip and finally says, his voice steady, “It wasn’t your fault. You aren’t responsible for the way I feel.”

He cannot hold back the humorless laugh that leaves his lips, because yes, maybe that’s true. But Viktor had been an _adult_ at the time and Yuri had been nothing but a child that got hurt because of Viktor’s own stupidity and self-doubt.

“You might be right about that but you said it too, Yuri.” Viktor tells him, finally voicing out loud the mistakes he made, “Just because we’re going through stuff doesn’t give us the excuse to act like assholes. I’m responsible for the way I handled the situation, at least.” He takes Yuri’s hands in his own, tracing the delicate curves of his fingers, “So let me apologize,” He almost chokes, “For forgetting about the promise I never fulfilled.” 

Yuri’s breath seems to stop for a moment before he gives Viktor a small smile, “I accept your apology,” He says, as if it were _that_ easy, “But don’t make me promises you can’t keep again.” His smile is tinged with a little regret. “I tend to take them to heart.”

Viktor cups his cheeks, running his thumb over his skin, “Yeah, I won’t.” He’s about to kiss him when Yuri pulls his face away.

“You are _not_ kissing me with cigarette breath,” He says, a little hysterical and the tension between them dissipates, “That’s disgusting.”

Viktor laughs and teases, “I’ve had dirtier things in my mouth and you didn’t mind then.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Yuri says as Viktor kisses his cheek and hugs him close and inhales the scent of his hair. They stay close for a few minutes before Yuri says, “There’s something...I want to tell you.”

“About?”

“Uh, me, I guess.”

And under the darkness of the nigh Yuri opens up to him about his childhood, his mother, and all the things he’s kept tightly guarded for years. (Later, when Viktor finally emerges out of the bathroom with his teeth thoroughly brushed, Yuri doesn’t hesitate to pull him down to his level and kiss him so deeply Viktor forgets how to breathe for just a few seconds.)

* * *

What Yuri doesn’t know, and what Yuuri should have told him from the very beginning, is that long before Yuri turned their way, they had already been pinning for a while.

For Yuuri, the feeling sneaks up on him. He’s married, after all. He’s not expecting to think about another person in the same regard as his husband. So he doesn’t realize the fact that he’s unconsciously paying attention to Yuri. Lingering looks that he tricks himself into thinking are appreciation for his form, casual touches that leave his fingers tingling, the enjoyment he gets out of drawing out a rare laugh, and thinking that it’d be nice if he could see more of his unguarded smile. 

It’s noticing the little things like the little dimple Yuri has on his right cheek that only appears if he smiles _just_ right or the way his brows quirk when he finds something funny but is trying hard not to laugh. It’s contemplating absentmindedly and coming to the conclusion that yes, Yuri’s eyes are definitely more green than blue but sometimes they'll change in shade depending on the color of the shirt he's wearing. It’s hearing his voice in his dreams and absentmindedly wondering what it would feel like if he ran his thumb over his lips. He wonders how Yuri would react if he’d get angry or blush or both. 

He’s not thinking deeply about it. They’re just stray thoughts in his head that he gives no meaning to. Curiosity, one could say. 

Objectively, Yuuri knows Yuri is an adult. He has a license, owns a car, and has a shoebox apartment that he refuses to move out of despite having the money for a bigger place. He’s grown taller, his muscles leaner like that of lithe tiger, he’s calmer, with a better hold on his emotions, and at twenty, more sure of himself than he had been years ago and he’s got every reason to be. But it doesn’t _really_ hit him until Yuri is...dating.

“Want to come eat with us?” He asks Yuri on a day like any other. Viktor and he have been back in Russia for about a week at that time.

“Can’t,” Yuri responds, shrugging off his sweaty shirt, “I‘ve got a date with my girlfriend.”

_Girlfriend?_ Yuuri thinks, stupefied, as if the word was completely foreign. Since when does Yuri even have a girlfriend? Better yet, why had he never told them about it? He wants to ask, but Yuri isn’t making a big deal about it so he doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to blow this out of proportion, because having a girlfriend is normal. It’s not...strange or unexpected. Actually, he’s more surprised Yuri hasn’t had a girlfriend before this. Or maybe he has and he never told them anything. 

It’s not that he expects Yuri to report to him about every aspect of his life, but he thought....he thought that maybe he would have trusted them enough to tell them about it. But he hadn’t and that—that makes Yuuri remember that they are not his keepers. Yuri’s private life is just that—private. 

“Oh, I see,” Yuuri says, swallowing thickly, “Have fun then.”

The blond gives him a cocky smile, “I will.”

When Yuri leaves the rink, he’s wearing a white button-down and a dark pair of jeans instead of sweats and a hoodie, and his hair is pulled back into a messy, but effortlessly artistic, bun. He looks...nice. Grown-up. It makes something sour in Yuuri’s stomach. He knows he should be...proud? Or at least happy for him, but all Yuuri feels is something—something not quite normal. 

“Did you know Yuri has a girlfriend?” He asks Viktor later that night, after dinner.

“What?” Viktor asks, his face going strangely still.

“Yeah, he told me today.”

“Oh,” His husband says. And yeah _oh._

Katherine—or Katya, as Yuri has taken to calling her—is a sweet girl. She’s a gymnast with pretty brown hair and blue eyes and she’s just a little taller than Yuri but he doesn’t seem to mind. And the thing is—she’s nice! So it’s not like Yuuri can...dislike her. She’s hard to dislike, actually, but there’s just _something_ about seeing them together that gives him a feeling that’s crossed somewhere between irritation and contempt.

It takes actually witnessing them kissing for Yuuri to realize what it is. She had stopped by the rink and as she leaves she cups Yuri’s face in her hands and leans down to kiss him—and it’s really just a peck but he realizes—he understands—

He’s jealous.

And everything seems to fall neatly into place but it doesn’t make him feel any better about it.

Why is Yuuri even feeling jealous? What right does he have? He has a _husband_. He shouldn’t be feeling like the world is tilted off its axis just because he saw Yuri kissing his girlfriend. Because Yuri isn’t—he isn’t his to own. Yuri isn’t—he’s not someone to be jealous over. He has no rights.

It’s not like he expected Yuri to stay single forever, he _knows_ that eventually someone would come and sweep Yuri off his feet and he’d be in love and he’d see a twinkle in his eye that’s never been there before but—but. He didn’t think it would be this soon. Or rather, he didn’t think he would react this way. He should be happy for him, he should be teasing him like an older brother would, he should glad that he trusts them enough to introduce his girlfriend to them, he should be, he should be, _he should be_.

But he’s not.

Instead, there’s a burning feeling in the base of his stomach and irritation lodged where his heart should be. It’s not a pleasant feeling. He’s so painfully envious that he doesn't know what to do anymore and it’s not like he can tell Viktor about it because that would only go over terribly. So he steams in his own annoyance and hopes it’ll pass because he’s probably being passive-aggressive enough for people—for Yuri—to notice.

And suddenly Yuri isn’t _there_ like he used to be. He doesn’t go out with them anymore, at the rink he’s always so focused on his skating that they don’t talk much unless it’s about his form or his jumps, and any free time he has he spends it with his _girlfriend_. 

It makes Yuuri feel like Yuri is slipping right through his fingers and he can’t do anything about it. And it’s not like he can, anyway. It’s not that he doesn't love Viktor...or that he’s thinking about cheating it’s more like...Yuri is—Yuri is—

He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know what label to use. 

Viktor’s mood hasn’t been all that great lately either, he’s sharper with Yuri than usual, harsher in his criticism, and withholds his compliments viciously. When Yakov asks them for a second opinion of Yuri’s new choreography neither of them can seem to agree on anything. It isn’t until Yuri loses his temper that both of them realize that they have been very unfair to him.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” He shouts at both of them, angry in a way that reminds Yuuri of when he was younger, “You say one thing,” He points at Viktor and then at Yuuri, “And then you say another. And let's not forget that you’re _both_ being shitty assholes!”

It makes both of them clamp up and neither rises up to defend themselves.

Yuri waits for them to explain but when he realizes neither is willing, he just spits, “Get on the same page or stop wasting my time and getting in my way.”

Later that day, Viktor and he just sit at the dinner table in silence. Until Yuuri finally admits, “I’m jealous.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, “Of?”

He swallows because he’s about to admit something strange, “Of Yuri. And his girlfriend.”

Viktor nods, looking away and admitting, “Me too.”

“Oh, really?” Yuuri asks, his voice relieved, “I thought maybe it was just me. And I guess I didn’t realize we weren’t being...fair.”

Viktor remains silent for a few seconds, his fingers tapping nervously against the table, and then asks, “When you say jealous, what exactly do you mean?”

It catches him off guard because he’s not sure, “I-I mean—I don’t want to see them together. I want—I just—I want—“ _It to be me._ He stops, abruptly, and looks up at Viktor through his lashes because he’s not ready to say that out loud. After a moment he asks back, “What do you mean by it?”

Viktor lets out a long sigh and places a hand over his face as if trying to cover his shame, “I’m possessive of the things I love.” 

Yuuri swallows thickly, his heart accelerating, “Re-really?” He thinks he’s supposed to be a little upset about it, but rather he just feels a weight lifted off his shoulders and he can breathe a little easier. “Since when?”

“I-I don’t know. A while, maybe longer. I didn’t realize.”

Silence descends upon them because this is big. This is _astronomical,_ actually. 

“Okay,” Yuuri finally says, placing his hands on the table, “Okay. We’re on the same page now.”

Viktor looks at him, shocked, “You’re not...angry?”

“No—I think—I think I’m getting there...too.”

Realization dawns on his face and Viktor just nods. The rest of the night they remain in silence because it’s something that they individually have to come to terms with. When did it start? He wonders. What does this mean for them? For their marriage? When did this feeling of...affection for this man other than his husband start? Why did it start? More than that, what are they going to do about it?

The correct answer is nothing. They can’t do or say anything about it. Yuri doesn’t need their complicated feelings added to his already crammed schedule. But now that they’ve both given a name to the feeling, it gets harder to watch him walk off with his girlfriend after practice. They find consolation in each other, but rather than soothe the burns they only seem to agitate them because they talk about just how unfair it is and how _frustrating._

Things aren’t what they seem though. 

Yuuri is walking back to rink after a restroom break when he notices Katya speaking to another girl in the hallway. They seemed to be in a heated discussion and Yuuri almost feels like he should intervene but before he can, Katya is pushing the girl back up against the wall and _kissing_ her. He has to clamp his hand to his mouth to keep his shocked exclamation of surprise from escaping his throat. 

“She’s _cheating_ on him!” He nearly shouts to Viktor at lunch, in Yakov’s office, “She was—she was kissing another girl!”

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, his face darkening.

“Yes! What a—what a—how _could_ she?”

They tell Yuri about it. But rather than looking upset or angry he just looks annoyed. He groans, looking to the ceiling and says, “She fucked it up.” 

“What does that mean?” Viktor questions, because both he and Yuuri are ready to confront her for hurting their—for hurting Yuri. 

Yuri rolls his eyes, “We’re not really dating.”

“ _What_?” Yuuri screaks. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“Why not?”

“To make it more believable.”

“So why are you fake dating her then?” Viktor asks.

“Because...” Yuri says, slowly, “She likes girls....and I don’t.”

Yuuri has so many questions, so many things he wants cleared up, but more than that—more than confusion—he feels—he feels elated. It’s almost sad, the way both Viktor and he quickly exchange hopeful glances over Yuri’s head. Both their thoughts already turning to the possibilities, to the opportunity they _might_ have about what they could be. 

Yuri and Katya continue ‘dating’ for a few more weeks though, until they both part ways in an amicable breakup. It isn’t until Yuuri sees an article about it online that he realizes why Yuri was doing this whole thing in the first place. That complicates things, just a little. So Yuri doesn’t want to come out, he supposes he can understand, especially after what Viktor had to deal with when he announced they were getting married. But they both talk it over and concluded it’s fine, if Yuri agreed to date them—they could bear being his dirty little secret. 

So they ask him and after some mulling on his side, miraculously, he says yes.

And it’s—it’s a _dream._

In the beginning, Yuuri thinks he’s a little distant, Yuri doesn’t quite know what to do with them. He doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to kiss one or the other or if he’s supposed to wait until they tell him what’s allowed and what’s not. He’s figuring out the boundaries and Yuuri doesn’t want to scare him off by telling him that there _are_ no boundaries. 

He leads and they follow because while this is something Viktor and he wanted, Yuri is the one who’s calling the shots, because they’re already together and they don’t want to make him think they’re pushing him into something he doesn’t want. It’s frustrating, because Yuuri very much wants to kiss the breath out of him but he can’t, not yet.

Little by little he opens up to them. And it’s not like before, not like when they were just friends because now he smiles easily at them, he’s more honest and sly about getting their attention. Yuri is—he’s so receptive to them that Yuuri doesn’t understand how he ever thought Yuri was cold. Yuuri is able to kiss him, he’s able to run his fingers through his pretty hair, and not fear getting singed. It awakens something in him that he didn’t realize was quietly dormant inside him. 

The video is Viktor’s idea, they’re in the middle of dinner when Viktor asks, “Can I film you?” 

Yuri looks at him with a confused look, “Film me?”

His husband nods his head, “Yeah, like a sex tape.”

Yuuri chokes on the water he’s drinking and Yuri flushes so red he can almost see steam rising from his ears, he vehemently denies, “ _No._ Are you out of your _mind_?”

“Please,” Viktor whines, “We want something to remember you by.”

“I’m not _dying._ ”

“Please, Yura, sometimes we get so sad in Japan without you, this will help us cope.”

“As fucking material?” 

The older man brings his hand to his heart, “Better you than anyone else. Right?” He turns to look at Yuuri and he wants the ground to swallow him whole because they’re really not on the same page. “Yuuri thinks so, too.”

Yuri looks between them suspiciously and then levels his gaze on him. “Is that true Katsudon?”

“Uhhhhh,” He looks at Viktor and he’s looking back at him like he’s supposed to know what to do. Viktor gives him a look and mouthes _please_ as he brings his hands together in a pleading motion _._ And the thought about it, the idea of having something to look back on, is not—it’s not _bad._ He vows he’s going to kill Viktor later but it’s his own mouth that says, “Ye-yes! P-please.”

Embarrassingly enough, they get equal usage out of the tape. It’s a very nice video, he should have figured by now that Viktor only likes tasteful things. It’s in high definition and the angle of the camera is high and close enough that everything is perfectly recorded. It should be mortifying but Yuri’s too beautiful to not pay attention to. 

Because Yuri _is_ beautiful. 

And he looks particularly beautiful when he’s begging. He’s beautiful when his face and chest are flushed red and his hair is splayed out on the pillow like a halo. He’s beautiful when he has tears in his eyes and is withering on the bedsheets. He’s beautiful when he has his head thrown back and is incoherently begging them to let him cum. He’ll say things like _please_ and _I can’t take it anymore_ and Yuuri knows he’s gone for this kid immediately.

Viktor is no better. 

But it’s after the video that Yuuri begins thinking that sometimes he wants to look back on less risqué things when thinking about Yuri. So that’s how it starts. On his Snapchat he will take videos of Yuri anytime he can. When he’s laughing, when he’s sleeping, when he’s feeding Potya or Tsar, when he’s skating, when he’s reading, when he’s playing video games loudly in the living room, when he’s scrolling through his phone, when he’s fighting with Viktor about what movie they should watch, when he’s listening to music, any time Yuuri gets the chance, he’ll record him on his phone. And it’s these videos that he looks back on more than anything else. 

He shows them to Viktor and soon they’re negotiating videos of their boyfriend to trade because Viktor still keeps taking the _other_ type of videos and Yuuri greatly appreciates those, too. 

He misses Yuri constantly when they’re in Japan, in ways he didn’t think were possible. Even though Viktor is with him, he can’t help but think of the younger man when he’s out shopping and sees something he thinks Yuri would like or when he goes to a cat cafe or when he eats something from a new place and he thinks, _Yuri would like it here._ He even goes as far as making notes of places he wants to take him to when he visits Japan. 

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. And Yuuri and Viktor grow _fond_.


	2. Part II

* * *

**I’m with you.**

**No matter what else you have in your head**

**I’m with you and I love you.**

—Ernest Hemingway 

* * *

It is impossible to fully protect a person from the hurt and suffering of the world. It’s impossible to protect someone from their own minds and their thoughts and the idiosyncrasies of their souls. 

It doesn’t make it any easier though.

Yuri had survived, but what if he hadn’t? That’s the thing, what if he _hadn’t_? 

Yuuri forgets, sometimes, that not everyone had the same emotional support system he did. His family and close friends have _always_ been there for him, in the good times, in the bad times, in the times where he’s been in a lull and didn’t know what to do, they were there. 

Because not everyone had parents that did the impossible to see their children happy, not everyone had friends that understood that there were days when he needed reassurance more than others. Not everyone could fail and still be sure that at the end of the day they still had a place to return to. Not everyone understood that depression comes in skulking like a shadow, following after you, not letting you go, even though you want to be free of it.

Yuuri knows about depression, he _understands_ what it’s like to feel like there’s nothing to hope for. He knows about those days when just getting up and showering feels like accomplishment enough. He knows about being surrounded by people and laughing and then going home to silence, feeling like an absolute fraud because he wasn’t _happy_ enough. He knows what it’s like to be physically present in a place but so _far_ away at the same time that days later the memories of that moment aren’t quite so clear. More than once he had realized that he didn't remember what it was he had been laughing so much about, _I don’t remember what I felt. I laughed…but I don’t know why._

Yuuri’s depression has always been a part of him, it comes and goes in small bursts that sometimes leave him feeling unbalanced. He’s learned to manage it, learned to function around it, he's learned how to live with it. He’s learned that even when everything looks as though it’s falling apart, _it gets better._ It does. His depression was just something that was always there but Viktor made the gray days a little brighter with his easy smile and his caring nature and Yuri made the ache more bearable with his teasing jokes and the warmth he emitted when he draped himself over him. 

It gets better. The dark, never-ending nights turn into day eventually, and even if the day is cloudy, there’s still _light._

He hadn’t been there to tell Yuri that. 

Yuri had always seemed so strong, so untouchable that even he, for a moment thought…this _couldn’t_ have happened to him. Depression couldn’t _touch_ him, because he always seemed so—so _alive_ —so different from Yuuri. And that was his mistake, in the end. To think like everyone else, to say, _oh, it can’t happen to him in specific because depression doesn’t affect people like him._

So when it happened to Yuri, it was like the shadow of depression itself had come knocking at his door, mockingly asking him, _Did you think you were free of me?_

How stupid could he be?

Of course, depression could touch Yuri, it touched _anyone_. Because it had no respect, it had no scruples, it did not discriminate. It was an _illness_ and it didn’t exclude anyone from its devastating grasp. Yuri’s depression hit hard and fast and it had almost spirited him away. 

For a long time, he struggled with coming to terms with the fact that _he had not been there_ when Yuri needed him the most. Accepting that isn’t easy. It takes many years, actually. Many years before he comes to terms with it and understand that _it had not been his fault,_ it hadn’t been anyone’s fault. Not his, not Viktor’s, and most definitely not Yuri’s. There wasn’t anyone they could blame and maybe that’s why it took so long to accept because they didn’t have an entity to direct the anger at, it was just something that was.

Yuri still has bad days. They’re rarer nowadays but they still come and they’re something Yuuri has come to accept with a heavy heart. Viktor and he cannot kiss the depression that sometimes overtakes Yuri away, they can’t share it with him, and they can’t pretend it’s not there. It’s something real, intangible, but so _real._

So real it almost took Yuri away from them. 

After Yuri’s major depressive episode, with medication and therapy, he managed to recover but there were still times when it came. On those days the only thing they can do is make sure Yuri eats, showers, and knows he’s not alone. Sometimes Yuri can go months without a bad day or he’ll have days when he’s not feeling one hundred percent but he’ll give fifty or sixty percent, he’ll be less himself than usual but otherwise, he’s still _there._

But on the particularly _bad_ days—the days that come only once or twice a year—the fight leaves him completely. The first ones to notice are always Potya and Tsar probably because they’re the ones that had been there for him when the worst of it was happening. In the mornings of a _bad_ day, they’ll come into the bedroom and Potya will curl herself on the crook of Yuri’s neck, and Tsar will wiggle beside him and lay his head on his stomach. They make a cute sight, but despite the years and his previous experience with _bad_ days, it always breaks Yuuri’s heart that he can’t do anything about it. 

Viktor will pull open the curtains to let light in and Yuuri will make his way to the kitchen to make pancakes. After he’s done he’ll put some on the nightstand and get ready for the day. Viktor and he usually have to go to work, but they each kiss Yuri goodbye and promise to come home as soon as they can. 

“Love you,” Yuri will mumble but his gaze isn’t quite focused.

They leave, doing their best to focus on what's going on around them but in the back of their minds, they’re thinking about Yuri. When they make it back home, Yuri is almost in the exact same position he was when they left and the only indication that he got up all is that the pancakes are gone and the dish is in the sink. 

The _bad_ days always reach their end though, and the next morning Yuri is in the kitchen, fighting with Ilya about what they should have for breakfast. 

“Good morning,” Yuri will say, sipping coffee, like the old man he’s become. 

“Morning,” Yuuri will greet back, pulling him in for a kiss to lick the taste of coffee out of his mouth as Ilya makes gagging noises in the background. 

* * *

The nicotine withdrawal is something fierce.

As Yuri would say, _It really fucking sucks!_

But Viktor somehow manages, though he does go through packets of gum quickly, and he’s chewed through more than one packet of straws. They’re house hunting though so that manages to take his mind off it despite the fact that he wears his irritation under his skin and he’s sure the realtor hates his guts.

Eventually, they do find a house that he can’t complain about so it’s settled. It takes about a month for Yuri to finally gain full custody of his kid brother and they move into the new house soon after. 

Viktor really does love the home they’ve chosen. It’s the house Yuuri and he plan on growing old together in and he’s hoping that Yuri will agree to grow old together with them, too. Initially, Yuri had a lot of concerns about bringing Ilya into their little nucleus and Viktor understood, he did, but he wasn’t willing to let Yuri go that easily. They’d talked it over, they had an open and honest conversation that addressed Yuri’s concerns and managed to reach an agreement for the time being. Eventually, they would have to revisit the topic again but for now, they were all content to look forward to what the future held in the next year. 

(Yuuri and he will have to make a more permanent offer soon because he wanted to say without a doubt, without questions, that they were a family. Yuri seemed to think that he wasn’t entirely part of their family yet and he had this thought that their commitment to him was something temporary. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t planning on letting him go. Ever.)

Ilya is a cute kid. A little on the short and scrawny side but cute nonetheless. And much to Viktor’s dismay, he hates him. It’s a real shame.

He’s not like Yuri, who used to say he hated him yet still admired him and wanted to get his attention. No, Ilya does _not_ like him and Viktor has nothing to impress him with. He doesn’t care about figure skating or about all the accomplishments Viktor has to his name. He forgets sometimes, that there are people out in the world that look at him and don’t see a legend. It’s humbling, at least. But it doesn’t help at all his situation. 

Viktor wants to get along with him, he’s Yuri’s cute little brother but more than that, kids usually love him! He feels especially bothered that this kid—who he actually _wants_ him to like him—doesn’t. He can’t even bribe him! 

The other day, they had been at the grocery store and Ilya had looked at the honey cakes with longing. Viktor had offered to buy it for him and the kid had the audacity to say, with a straight face, as if Viktor was an idiot, “I don’t like sweets.”

(Which, by the way, a total _lie._ He was always munching on the cookies Dr. Kuznetsov baked for him.)

Viktor is left with no leverage and teasing only seemed to make the kid bare his fangs even more. He complains to Yuuri about it and his husband only laughs at him. 

“He’s getting used to all of us. I don’t think you should take it so personally.” 

“But love,” He says, “He actually _hates_ me. Like, if the house was burning and he had superpowers that let him walk through fire, he would leave me here to burn to ashes. Intentionally.”

“You’re being dramatic, Vitya,” Yuuri tells him with a roll of his eyes, “He’ll come around eventually.”

Ilya doesn’t come around. (At least not as fast as Viktor would like.)

Instead, what happens is this: the kid starts to come between him and his lovers. It’s subtle and Yuuri thinks he’s finally lost it but it’s _true._

During movie nights, he’ll sit right between him and Yuuri. His back ramrod straight and both his feet planted on the ground. He’ll ask Yuuri to teach him how to cook and therefore during dinner Yuuri spends the whole time helping him and neglecting Viktor. And to top it all off, Yuri’s still iffy about showing public displays of affection in front of his little brother so he feels even _more_ abandoned. 

It all started with a very strange occurrence.

He'd been going up the stairs to the ‘closet’—which Yuri had time and time again said they needed to organize—carrying a box full of books that Yuri still hadn’t put up when he noticed Ilya standing in front of the closed closet door, a soccer ball in his hands. He seemed to be in deep concentration and when he noticed Viktor his eyes widened in panic.

“Catch!” He shouted, out of nowhere, throwing the ball at Viktor but since both his hands were busy, the ball hit him right on the forehead. 

“OW!” He whined, dropping the box from his hands and bringing them to hold his aching head, “Why did you _do_ that?”

Ilya had run to pick up his ball just as Yuuri and Yuri came out of the room to see what the whole commotion was about. Ilya looked up at Viktor innocently, “I thought we could play...but you’re slow so never mind.”

“Are you alright?” Yuuri asked, walking towards them. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ilya answered, and Viktor very much wanted to disagree that that’s was a lie but his head is had really started to pound and he didn't want to argue with a _ten-year-old._ He was supposed to be passed that. 

The incidents only seem to pile up after that, like that one time he locked Viktor out while he took out the trash. Or when he stuck dog treats in his favorite shoes and he had to chase Tsar all over the house for fifteen minutes to keep the cloud of fur from tearing them apart. One time the kid even slimed him in his _Tom Ford_ suit from the second-floor balcony and when Viktor shouted in horror he’d ran off, only to come back with Yuuri and Yuri telling them of the horrible _accident_ that had happened.

“I was throwing this out,” He started, his green eyes big and innocent, “And he walked right under it!” He then turned to Viktor, his eyes glassy, “I’m _so_ sorry!” 

“Oh, it’s okay,” Yuuri had said, his voice trying to comfort the teary-eyed child, “It’s just a suit. Vitya has plenty.” 

And since Ilya had his husband on his side, Viktor couldn’t argue back. The kid knew _exactly_ what he was doing. 

“You did it on purpose!” He accused, later. 

Ilya muttered, his eyes on his DS, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m on to you, Ilyushen’ka,” He tells him just to watch his face burn red. 

“D-don’t call me that!” He says, his voice cracking. The nickname is the only ammo Viktor has, because otherwise, he could not get a rise out of him. He reminds Viktor of Yuri when he was younger except Ilya is a lot more morose and serious. Though taking into account everything that he’s been through Viktor can understand. His green eyes don’t miss a thing and he never dropped his guard around any of them. 

He bears with the kid’s little pranks and Viktor decides, hey, two can play that game. He doesn’t know what’s causing him to dislike Viktor so much, but Viktor is petty at heart and therefore he has to retaliate. 

But he has to plan it out perfectly, so he waits for Yuuri to leave for Japan so he doesn't get in trouble. But after Yuuri leaves, Ilya becomes more closed off. He holes himself up in his room, listening to music, doing homework, or playing on the old tablet Yuri had given him. He’s been going to therapy too, so Viktor thinks maybe he’s reflecting and thinking about the turmoil he’s put Viktor through. As an adult, Viktor thinks he’ll call a truce for now. 

In the meantime, he enjoys the time he’s able to sneak off with Yuri.

“Vitya you piece of shit!” Yuri nearly screams from the bathroom and Viktor smiles smugly to himself. He always enjoyed collecting on his revenge.

“How am I supposed to hide these?” His younger lover asks, coming out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. Viktor looks up to appreciate his artwork. Yuri’s neck, from behind his ear down to the middle of his chest, has a perfect array of hickeys. 

“Oh, that looks terrible!” He says, his voice amused. “Maybe wear a high collar shirt?”

Yuri flings a pillow at him and hits him squarely on the face, “Go get me a cold compress and concealer you asshole!”

Viktor can’t stop the laugh that leaves his lips, “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

It’s not the first time Viktor has left marks, he has a weird fixation with marking his territory, Yuuri _hates_ it—it’s one of the things he will _seriously_ get mad about—so Viktor had to stop doing it. It had to do with his very conservative Japanese upbringing. Surprisingly, Yuri doesn’t mind as much as he complains about it but Viktor enjoys watching him trying to cover them up so he always finds the most obvious places to leave them. What Yuri _does_ hate, however, is when one of them will cum on his face or his hair, he'd gone so far as to _bite_ the inside of Yuuri's thigh when he had first done it. They all balanced each other out in the end though, so maybe that's why they all worked so well together. 

At dinner later that night, Yuri wears a black high necked shirt which covers the majority of the marks and he wears his hair down to cover the ones behind his ear. 

Ilya eyes him suspiciously, “Are you cold or something?”

Yuri very nearly rolls his eyes, “Yes.”

“It’s like 27 degrees outside.”

“Maybe you’re coming down with a cold?” Viktor asks with innocence. 

“Ha. Ha.” Yuri dryly laughs, “Shut your mouth.”

Viktor just looks at Ilya and shrugs, the younger boy just shakes his head and continues eating.

As of late, Yuri’s been busy with something at school so after Viktor is done at the rink, it’s just him and Ilya in the house. Much to Viktor’s surprise, Ilya’s pranks no longer continue. Though maybe he has some form of PTSD because he’s expecting them to come but they never do. Maybe Ilya got bored?

The first piece of the answer comes one Saturday afternoon when Viktor is trying to decide what to make for dinner and Yuri and Ilya come home with puffy eyes and red noses. He’s concerned, of course, but more than anything, he’s amused that they look so much alike with their sullen faces and placated attitudes.

“Are you both alright?” He asks them.

And Yuri nods, and much to Viktor’s shock, he comes up to him without hesitation and presses a kiss to his lips. Viktor lets out a weird sound. Ilya was _right_ there.

When Yuri pulls back he laughs at his expression, “He figured it out.”

Ilya scrunches his nose when Viktor turns to look at him. “You guys are _disgusting._ ”

Viktor raises his eyebrows, both relieved and surprised at his reaction, and he has to keep the laugh from escaping his chest. He hands Ilya one of the cookies he had baked earlier, especially for him.

“Here you go, you deserve it.” 

Ilya takes it without suspicion and Viktor watches with fascination as he takes a bite and instantly his nose scrunches up in disgust. He gags, spitting it out, and he cries, “Why are they so _salty_?!”

Viktor had said he would call a temporary truce, not that he would give up his revenge. 

“Payback for the slime.”

“Oh for _fuck's_ sake!” Yuri says, laughing, “You’re the _worst!_ ”

Ilya looks close to murder as he tries to get the salty taste off his tongue and then he threatens. “You better watch your back old man.”

And the ‘old man’ finally breaks the dam, and Viktor giggles and the giggles ultimately turn into guffaws that make both Yuri and Ilya start laughing too. 

“Whatever you say, Ilyushen’ka.” 

This time he can’t tell if the nickname or the lack of air is what causes Ilya’s face to turn red but as he watches him laugh—for the first time since coming to this house he’s laughing, _he’s laughing, he’s laughing!_ —he doesn’t really care to stop and think about it. 

Yuuri comes back the first week of November and it’s a good thing because, ever since the three of them had sat down and come out to Ilya and explained their relationship, he seemed much more comfortable around them. And when he tells them that he had seen Yuuri and Yuri kissing first it clicks in Viktor’s head. 

“You were trying to distract me!” He exclaims, “You didn’t want me to realize they were having an affair!”

Ilya blushes, ducking his head, and he nods.

“Oh!” Viktor says, bringing a hand to his chest, “You were protecting your brother! At my expense! I am _so_ proud.”

Both his lovers could only laugh at the absurdity of the situation. 

Following that, Yuri invites them to the annual fundraiser his university is holding and Ilya is particularly excited about it though neither he nor Yuuri can figure out why. They spend the majority of the afternoon enjoying the performances and looking over the artwork that’s being sold. At around four fifty Ilya asks them to take him to the university rink.

“I don’t think it’s open to the public,” Yuuri tells him, looking over the brochure one of the students had given him.

“But Yura told me I could go if I told them I was his brother,” He insists. “One of his friends is there.”

“I don’t know....”

“Come on,” He pleads, looking up at them with the widest, greenest eyes—the one's they have never been able to say no to— it’s a curse that he has the same eyes as Yuri, “If she’s not there then we can come back.”

“Well,” Viktor says, “I guess it’d be nice to see it. I hear it’s very nice.”

So they make their way to the rink and Irina, Yuri’s friend from the dancing studio is at the entrance. Almost...as if she’d been waiting for them. 

“There you are!” She exclaims when she sees them, she high fives Ilya, “Good job, little accomplice.” 

As Ilya beams.  Yuuri and Viktor exchange frowns, not understating what’s going on. 

“Please come inside, things are going to get a little hectic in just a few minutes,” Irina tells them, leading them into the rink and down the steps of the stands. “Just wait here, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

“Alright,” Viktor says, as he takes in the rink, and it’s truly amazing. He notes, with confusion, that there’s a net in the ceiling, holding balloons and streamers. He looks down at Ilya who’s sitting on one of the chairs, swinging his feet back and forth.

“Have you been here before?”

He nods, “I came with Yura.”

“Oh, is that so,” Yuuri mutters, as he takes a seat beside the boy, “When?”

“A few Saturday’s ago.”

Viktor’s mind flashes to the puffy eyes, “So what’s happening today?”

“Can’t tell you,” He says, “Not yet.”

Viktor pouts but takes a seat as well and they sit chattering for a while before both Yuuri's and his phone start vibrating with the sign on incoming messages.

It’s the triplets again, sending links to a particular account over and over and it makes something sour in Viktor’s stomach, last time, it hadn’t been anything good. This time though—this time it’s completely different.

_Please join us at six in the university rink for the long-awaited comeback of two-time Olympic medalist Yuri Plisetsky! Performing a never before seen program and choreographed exclusively for today’s fundraiser!_

Yuuri chokes beside him and Viktor feels the prickling of tears in the back of his eyes. Yuri was going to skate. He was going to see his beloved _Yuri_ skating again. He knew how much this meant to him, he’d seen his frustrated tears in that bathroom months ago, mourning the fact that he _couldn’t_ step on the ice. That he couldn’t return to normal after his suicide attempt. 

Viktor had seen him struggle to get better, he had seen him grow and mature through this entire process. Both Yuuri and he had seen just how relentless he truly was, how beautiful, how amazing. He had fallen, over and over again and instead of staying down he had got back up, with bruised in his heart and still _kept_ going. 

He had taken in his little brother—probably scared out of his mind of what he was getting into—and yet still decided that fear wasn’t enough to keep him from doing the right thing. He asked for help when he needed it back when he didn’t know what to do about Ilya, unashamed to admit that there were things he couldn’t do on his own and that he needed Viktor and Yuuri just as much as they needed him. 

“It’s Iridescence.” Ilya’s voice cut’s through his thoughts, “That’s the name of the performance.”

“Iridescence?”

“Yeah, Yuri told me. He said that when you look at things from a different angle, the light hits it differently, and you can see rainbows. He said that’s how life is. Even when you can’t see the rainbows all you have to do is change how you look at something and you’ll be able to see the colors.” He pauses, trying to remember the rest of what Yuri had told him, “He said, that—that after he—after he came back from—from that time—he began to see things differently and even though it was sad—he said that he saw rainbows.” His voice quiets, “He said, he saw me. And you two. And the future.”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, his voice thick with tears, “That makes perfect sense.”

Viktor inhales slowly, “Yeah, I get it now.”

Because Yuri is thinking about _the future._

And Ilya is right.

Yuri’s entire performance is a shift in perspectives, the music, the dances, the tone, the _emotions,_ they’re all shifts, showing and demonstrating that even the sad things can be overcome when one shifts their viewpoint. He skates freely, so much freer than Viktor has ever seen him and the thing is—the things is he looks like he’s having _fun._ He doesn’t have that little frown on his face that Viktor has come to associate with deep concentration, instead, he’s smiling, laughing even when he doesn’t quite land his quad salchow with as much precision as he knows Yuri is able to. 

At the end of it all, Yuri stands at the center of the universe, breathing heavily and looking as radiant—as captivating—as the sun.

* * *

“So,” Yuuri begins, “What do you think?”

Yuri looks at him with deep concentration, “I think I like the first ones better.”

“Really?” He takes off the glasses and puts on the other pair that was on the table. “Why?”

“Because they’re different,” He mutters, looking at all the glasses Yuuri had pulled from the boards to try on, “You’ve been wearing the same style for too long. You need to change it up a bit.”

“I don’t look too…I don’t know—like a hipster?” 

“Urghhh, Katsudon, _no._ Stop. Don’t say that word.”

“I’m serious! I don’t look like I’m trying too hard to look young?”

Yuri makes an annoyed face, “Katsudon, you haven’t even reached thirty yet. You aren’t _trying._ You _are_ young.”

“Wow,” Yuuri says, truly amazed, “Thanks for the reassurance.”

The blond rolls his eyes, “Just chose the first pair. I like those best.”

“Fine. These are it then.” He hands the glasses to the lady that had been helping him and she gratefully took them. Yuuri bets he’d been getting on her last nerves already, especially since he’d been debating on styles that all looked pretty similar, except for the ones he’s chosen. “Thanks for coming with me.” 

Yuri just nods, “It’s not like I had much to do.”

“Yes, but still…I always hate coming to the optometrist by myself.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it’s not so much the exam that makes me nervous, it’s having to choose a new pair of glasses and I just never know what to get.”

“No wonder you’ve been wearing the same exact style for so long.” Yuri pulls himself up and leans his weight on the crutches, “Now let’s go, I’m starving and you promised me home-cooked food.”

“Right, right,” Yuuri says, making sure they haven’t left any of their belongings in the frame room. They follow the lady to the front of the clinic and pay. Then they’re out, walking through the streets of St. Petersburg slowly because Yuri can’t move too fast. 

“When do you think you’ll be back on the ice?” Yuuri asks him. 

“The doctor said two more weeks, just to be safe, but honestly I think it’s fine already.” 

“You better not do anything to hurt yourself further,” He tells him. “This needs to heal properly.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t have to lecture me. Yakov and Lilia did that enough already.”

Yuuri laughs, remembering the way Yuri had sulked when he’d been caught skating on one leg and Yakov had nagged at him for fifteen minutes. 

A train ride and ten minutes of walking later, they’re making their way up the stairs of Yuri’s apartment complex because the place is so old it doesn't have an elevator. At least Yuri only lives on the third floor, he opens the door and they shuffle inside. Yuri flops on his couch and Yuuri makes his way to the kitchenette. It had only been a month a half since Yuuri first stepped into the place of Yuri’s comfort. The blond had been high on pain killers and Viktor and he had been the ones to drive him home from the hospital. 

He hates this apartment, to be honest, it’s so small and tiny and the stove doesn’t even turn on sometimes. Yuuri and Viktor have tried to tell Yuri to look for a better place, but he refused. 

_What the hell for?_ He asked, _It’s just me and my cat._

Yeah, it’s just Yuri and his cat. Sometimes, that makes Yuuri a little sad. Nikolai’s death had hit him pretty hard last year and he doubts Yuri is ‘over it’—you never get over it, you only learn to live with it.With his injury on top of that, Yuuri hated that he didn’t have anyone taking care of him properly. He’s been busy with practicing since it’s his last season and Viktor’s busy teaching Yakov’s introductory class so they can’t do much, but they try. They call when they can’t stop by and they bring him food. 

Yuri pays someone to meal prep for him, since he says it’s easier and he’s a horror in the kitchen. But occasionally, Yuuri will make him Katsudon or Pirozhki or Viktor will make him plov or meat cutlets and they’ll bring it to him. Yuri says they don’t have to, but it’s the least they can do.

Yuri’s apartment is tiny, and it’s only made tinier by the fact that he has about twenty-five boxes stacked one on top of the other against one of his walls. Yuuri has been burning with curiosity to ask what’s in them but he knows they are things he got from his grandfather's apartment when he cleaned out the place after the funeral. He doesn’t want to be insensitive about it because it seemed as though Yuri still refused to go through everything. 

“Ingredients are in the fridge,” Yuri tells him, scrolling through his phone. 

He gets to work because Yuri had requested shrimp tempura sushi and Yuuri was proud of the fact he’d learned how to roll them. (It hadn’t always been that way.) He works quietly and efficiently for the next hour and when he’s done, he’s about to let Yuri know it’s ready when he realizes that the younger man has fallen asleep. 

Yuuri almost wants to snap a picture. 

He looks so unguarded. His expression relaxed and Yuuri pushes his hair away from his face. He thinks about waking him up but decides against it. Instead, he sits beside him and checks his social media accounts. Yuri doesn’t even sleep half an hour, he jolts just a few minutes later, and he looks a bit disoriented, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Sorry, I just thought maybe you were tired?”

Yuri yawns and stretches his neck from side to side, “Food, Katsudon, what I want is food.”

“Alright, alright,” He gets up and brings the sushi to him and Yuri doesn’t waste time before digging in.

Yuuri looks at the boxes against the wall again, he contemplates Yuri—and Yuri’s aloneness. He wonders were his parents are, or siblings, he wonders if Yuri is lonely in this apartment late at night. Yuri never talks about his family or about how he’s feeling so Yuuri often worries about him. He knows he shouldn’t and if he voiced his concerns Yuri would rip him a new one but he just…worries. 

He doesn’t like the fact that Yuri is alone.

Yuri is nineteen, and he’s alone. 

“Don’t you feel lonely?” Yuuri blurts out before he can stop himself.

The blond looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as he chews his sushi, “Why do you ask?”

“Just—just. You’re alone here, most of the time, so I wonder.”

Yuri snorts, “I come here to sleep, Katsudon. Most of the time I’m at the rink or at the gym or at school. I don’t have time to feel lonely.”

“Hmmm,” Yuuri hums, still not entirely convinced.

“Besides,” Yuri continues, “Just because a person is alone doesn’t mean they’re lonely, haven’t you heard that before?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Yuri rolls his eyes, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

_But I do,_ Yuuri wants to tell him, _And there’s nothing wrong with worrying._

Yuri looks at his phone and says, “Don’t you have to go?”  


“Oh, umm, oh!” He exclaims, “You’re right! Viktor’s about to get home!”

The younger man waves at him as he leaves, “Thanks for the food.”

“Thank you for coming with me!” He tells him in return. “Bye!”

As Yuuri closes the door behind him and makes his way down the stairs he wonders if maybe Yuri was lying to him and he _did_ feel lonely. But then he thinks, no. Probably not, Yuri seemed so headstrong that it almost seemed impossible that something like what he was thinking could possibly plague him. 

_Not everyone is as soft-hearted as you,_ Yuuri told himself. There are people that can be alone and not feel like the world is falling apart. 

It’s only years later that he will learn that Yuri's depression and suicide attempt was an accumulation of things that he couldn't change. He couldn't bring Yuri's grandfather back from the dead, and he couldn't stop Yuri's mother from leaving him, he couldn't stop Viktor from leaving Russia, he couldn't go to that hotel room and tell Yuri to not take the pills. He couldn't stop Yuri from making the decisions he wanted to. Just like Yuri couldn't change the way things had turned out for Yuuri. They couldn't change the past but they could begin to shape the future. 

He could love Yuri and Viktor and face the uncertainties together. 

In the end, maybe that was all that mattered.

A week before the official start of the third Olympics that Yuri—his _fiancé_ —will be participating in, he comes to them and says—demands, “Skate the gala with me.”

“Uhh,” Yuuri had said, “What?”

“It’s going to cause an uproar, Yura,” Viktor said, “And you’ve been getting a lot of hate these days.” It was true, ever since he had uploaded the picture that announced their engagement, he’d been receiving a lot of hate on the internet. They said horrible things like _He should’ve died when he had the chance_ or _how could he come between Viktor and Yuuri? That’s so disgusting._ It made Yuuri furious. 

“Yeah _and? Who cares_? Aren’t you the one who likes to cause an uproar?” Yuri had said looking at Viktor like he was an idiot, and then he shrugged, “Besides, this is my last Olympics, who cares what happens after that.” 

Yuuri and Viktor had exchanged hesitant glances, but in the end, the prospect of doing what Yuri was asking was so exciting. So they had agreed. 

So after Yuri wins his third Olympic medal with his short program _god of the sun_ and the long program being a modified version of _iridescence_ , they had definitely caused a commotion. But as he watched both Yuri and Viktor laughing and he realized that it didn’t really matter. 

No one matter but them. 

* * *

Yuri tells them he’s retiring after the Olympics in October.

It leaves Viktor a little off balance. Yuri’s still young—only twenty-five—but it seems as though he’s firm in his decision. 

“There are other things I want to do now,” He says, “I can finally see the world beyond the rink.”

Viktor had swallowed a knot with thorns when he’d told them that because it seemed as though Yuri had come to understand something Viktor hadn’t until he was in his thirties. In a way he’s glad. Glad that Yuri wouldn’t break apart like he did when presented with the fact that he couldn’t keep doing what he loved. Viktor had clung to his love for figure skating for as long as he could and he had been going down a dangerous path that only held injuries and pain at the end. But just as he was about to fall, Yuuri had been there. And then Yuri.

There was a world beyond the edges of the ice, a world that could be just as beautiful and just as exciting. For the three of them, the ice would always be something they all loved, but it wasn’t the be all end all of their beings. There were other things that could be just as precious. 

With the Yuri’s looming retirement though, a thought springs in the back of Viktor’s head. He never fulfilled his promise. Now he would never be able to. Agape didn’t count, he hadn’t made that program _exclusively_ for Yuri. Not the way Yuri had wanted. 

Yuri has already decided what programs he’s going to skate come February. It’s too late. It’s _too_ late.

“No,” Yuuri tells him, “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s not. Yura’s a monster. If you gave him the program now by February he would have perfected it.”

“I—I—“

“Stop being scared, Vitya.” His husband says, his voice steady, “He’s not going to say no.”

Actually, Viktor thinks, the worse thing he _can_ say is no. So for two whole days, he locks himself up in his office at the rink and works. He watches every single one of Yuri’s programs since he was in juniors all the way up to his program from the fundraiser a year ago. _He’s like the sun_ , Yuuri had once said and Viktor had to agree with his sentiment.

He knows Yuri so well now, he knows his limits and his strengths, he knows his ins and outs, so intimately, that the entire process comes naturally. He can picture everything so perfectly clear, that it’s almost like a vision rather than something just in his head. When he finally emerges out of the office, the technicality of the program complete, he knows that before moving on further he has to tell Yuri about it. Has to have his permission so they can _both_ work on this together.

On that Wednesday morning, Yuri has the practice in the morning and Viktor grabs the papers in his hands, squares his shoulders, and takes a deep steadying breath before he calls out, “Yura!”

Yuri looks up from what he’s doing and Viktor waves him over. 

“What is it?” He asks when he skates near. 

Viktor clears his throat, “There’s something—something I want you to consider.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. 

“Here,” Viktor says, almost shoving the papers in his hands, “This.”

His younger lover takes the papers, looking them over, and when he realizes what they are his brows quirk up in surprise. There’s a tense silence and Viktor thinks, _he’s going to say no. He’s going to laugh—_

“So when do we start?” Yuri says, finally.

Viktor is left speechless, he opens and closes his mouth before he finally settles, “You’re not going to think about it?”

Yuri purses his lips, suppressing a smile, “Vitya there’s nothing to think about.”

“Ye-yeah but I mean—don’t you think—“

“Nope. I’m gonna do it.” He looks up at Viktor with the cheekiest smile, “Better get ready to work with me old man, I’m a perfectionist.”

Viktor lets out a little breathless laugh, “Yeah, I know.”

For the following month, they work relentlessly on perfecting the choreography and music and costume for the last short program Yuri will ever perform at the competitive level. He had thought maybe Lilia would have been angry but she just nodded in approval when she finally saw the finished performance. 

“I can let it slide this once,” She had told him, as a joke. 

In between all this, there’s another matter that’s been brewing in the back burner. 

Yuuri and he have come to the conclusion that this upcoming December thirteenth is the day they will finally do it. They will ask Yuri to marry them. They think about getting him the same ring as theirs but they decide that his wedding ring will be the same. The engagement ring is going to be a little different. 

Eternity bands are not usually used in proposals but they feel it's the ring that best expresses the feelings they want to convey to him. Both Yuuri and Viktor have known him for over ten years now, they have been together for five, and they wanted all the years from now until eternity. They wanted his laughs, his tears, his gray hairs, and the wrinkles he would eventually get, they wanted the good times and the bad, they wanted the man he was now and the man he would become. They wanted everything, _everything_.

The jeweler that is willing to do the design they have in mind is in Moscow and to keep him from getting suspicious they tell him that they’re going to Japan. It doesn’t go over very well.

_We’re on our way. He’s pissed._ Ilya texts them, as they put the finishing touches on the heart they’ve made of rose petals. It’s so _cheesy_ that they’re sure Yuri will later complain about it but deep down he’ll like it. He’s weak to romantic gestures and Yuuri and Viktor had been quite surprised about that tidbit of information back when they first started dating. They were going to use it to their advantage today.

_How pissed?_ Viktor texts back.

_11/10_

Viktor winces and calls Yuri to try to mellow him out but that only seems to piss him off further. 

“Don’t be like this Yurochka,” He tells him in his the sweetest voice he can manage, “We’ll be there tomorrow, I promise.”

“Whatever,” Yuri mutters, and he hangs up.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, “Angry?”

“ _Very.”_ The silver-haired man nods morosely. “You think he’ll say no just to spite us?”

“I hope not,” His husband says, “I think I might cry if he does.”

Their house is filled with guests that are all their closest friends, Viktor had invited Chris too but the man hadn’t been able to get away from his kids so he’d been texting Viktor every fifteen minutes asking, _So? So?_

_Not yet,_ he was typing again when Ilya’s text came.

_Outside._

Up until that moment Viktor had been calm, there was no way Yuri would say no. But suddenly—the moment is here and he almost begins to panic. 

“He’s—he’s here,” He chokes to Yuuri. 

Yuuri’s eyes widen and he announces to everyone, “Yura's here!” And everyone instantly gets up from the couches and scrambles to hide. 

“He’ll say yes right?” He asks Yuuri. 

Yuuri fans his hands in front of his face. “Yes. Probably. It’ll be fine.” He’s saying probably reassuring himself at the same time. “How do I look?”

“Great,” Viktor croaks, “And me?”

“You look good too.” 

They move to take their places and wait for Yuri to finally come in. It takes a few agonizing minutes but soon, soon they hear the lock of the door of the door turning. 

“You’re being so—“ Yuri’s saying and his voice cuts.

There’s a moment of silence and then they hear Ilya say, “They’re waiting.”

Another moment of silence passes and Viktor’s heart is pounding in his ears, and then Ilya says with exasperation in his voice, “Just _go._ ”

When Yuri comes into view, his face is set into complete surprise and he asks, “What is—what?”

Yuuri moves before Viktor can, and he's grateful for that because his legs feel like jelly. It’s not supposed to be this nerve-wracking. Yet it is. When Yuri is standing before them, waiting for Viktor to talk, he looks into the pretty green eyes of his beloved and the words just pour out, and as he watches Yuri’s expression he knows, _he knows,_ Yuri will say yes.

And he does. He says nods, with tears in his eyes, and happiness. 

Yuri won’t have to be alone anymore—never again. He’ll have them for all eternity.

Yuri will have them. _Always._

* * *

Ilya is eight when his mother packs her bags and leaves. She just wakes up one day and she's tired of him. That's what she says, _I'm tired of you_. 

She doesn't look sad to be leaving him and he wonders why that is. Was he not worth anything to her? He wonders if she's going back to that blond boy on TV she had once said was his brother. He wants to ask her but he doesn't dare—he doubts she would answer, anyway. 

He remembers his father, in his dreams, he’d been a good dad, he had taught him how to play the piano. When he had been around, his mother had actually liked him—he had felt like they were a family when his dad was still alive. In the end, it had been Ilya’s fault that he died. His mother said so. _You’re the one who should’ve died,_ his mother had spat acidly, _Not Anton, not him. You._

She leaves and well, Ilya just watches her go. And he's left without a family.

The year he spends at the orphanage makes him realize that the world isn't _nice_. And when one of the older boys steals his food _again_ he knows he's going to have to fight to survive. Since that moment on, he bares his teeth, and the next time they want to take his food he bites their arms, their hands, anything he can reach, and he ends up with a bloodied nose in the director's office. That’s the first time of many. More than once, he rips one of his nails off during a fight but he doesn't care, doesn't even feel the pain, all he feels is anger that they would _dare_ to try and steal his food.

He's been at the orphanage for more than a year when the news of Yuri Plisetsky attempted suicide breaks. He sees the video playing on the news and he just stands there, wondering if his mother knew. If maybe that's why she'd left. But it doesn't matter to him.

Except, it does end up mattering.

When Yuri comes for him, Ilya thinks he's _stupid_. He can't possibly be here because he cares about him. So when he goes to live with him, he's always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's heard from the other kids in the orphanage that sometimes the adults just took them in because they wanted servants—or worse. And money from the state. But neither Yuri nor his roommates make him do anything he doesn't want to. They cook for him, they help him clean his room, they're...nice.

Yuri says he's going to have to go to therapy and Ilya goes because Dr. Kuznetsov doesn't lecture him and she gives him cookies and cupcakes every time. 

The first time he sees Yuri kiss Yuuri, he's going down the stairs, it had been late, but he'd wanted water. He moved quietly stepped down the stairs and then he'd heard someone talking, he'd looked over and seen them in the kitchen and then— _they were kissing!_

Ilya nearly has a heart attack. He turns his eyes away, his face burning. Isn't Yuuri married?

He watches them more, now. Pays attention to everything they do and he realizes—that they were definitely having an affair. He makes up his mind so quickly though, it didn’t matter if they were having an affair, Viktor could not find out. 

So he does his best to keep Viktor out of the picture when his brother and Yuuri are together. But when Yuuri leaves to Japan, Yuri has marks on the side of his neck, and Ilya is left wondering—who gave them to him?

The answer is…Viktor. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that information. Were they all dating each other? Or was his brother two-timing a married couple? He doesn’t know what to think about either option. All he knows is that now he doesn’t want to be in the way. 

He holes himself up in his room, feeling like he’s being lied to again. Like he’s being a bother. He doesn’t want Yuri to wake up one day and tell him, _I’m tired of you._

But Yuri tells him something else instead, something he hadn’t heard since his father died, _I’ll take care of you._

And Ilya thinks, crying into his arms, _I’m finally safe._

Yuri pays for his piano classes and goes to every single one of his recitals. At home, when he’s practicing, Yuuri will bring him snacks when he’s been sitting down for hours at the bench, playing the same song over and over again. And late at night, when he's practically falling asleep on top of the piano keys, Viktor will carry him to bed, and tuck him in.  Over the years, as he grows taller, Viktor can't really take him to bed anymore, but he'll shake him away and make sure he makes it to his room. It's...nice. Feels like...he's wanted. 

On the morning of Ilya’s seventeenth birthday, he wakes up to the dogs licking his face. 

“Tsar, Beethoven, stop!” He tells them, pushing their faces away, but they’re relentless, “Stop. Stop.” He feels something on his face and when he touches it, his hand comes away with icing.

He hears laughing from the doorway and he knows, automatically, that it was Viktor’s doing.

“Urgh,” He complains, wiping his face and giving up because the dogs still continue licking him until all the icing is gone. When they’re done they run off and he just sits on his bed with an annoyed scowl, looking at the three men in the doorway, as they come in and sing him a happy birthday. Yuuri is carrying a cake and he blows out the candle with minimal grumbling.

He yawns, and says, “What the time is it?”

“It’s about to be eight,” Yuri answers, and he groans.

“Come now, Ilyusha,” Viktor says, “You have to get up, I hear someone is stopping by later to take you out to lunch.”

Ilya blushes, yeah, there was that too.

“But we’re still going out for dinner right?” Yuuri asks. 

“Yeah,” Ilya answers, “Lia and I will be back by two, I think.”

“So are we eating this cake or not?” Yuri asks peevishly, holding a fork in his hand.

“Yeah, just let me go brush my teeth,” Ilya answers, throwing his covers to the side and running to the bathroom.

It’s tradition now, that every morning of his birthday, he can have cake in bed for breakfast. His sweet tooth is legendary by this point. When he’s done with his teeth he goes back to his room and they all sit in his bed, as they eat the marble cake with him.

As he watches Viktor take some icing and smearing it all over Yuuri’s face he laughs and he thinks—no he _knows_ —his brother and his husbands are the _worst._

They end up staining his bedsheets in cake and he kicks them out, telling them that by the time he comes home he wants the mess they made in his room clean. They only laugh at him. He really can’t stand them. But, having them around isn’t so bad. They’re embarrassing as hell and when they go to his recitals they’re always front and center making the most noise out of everyone else. But they care about him and they help him when he needs them the most. Like when he had his first hopeless crush on a girl whose parents hated his brother and his husbands. He’d been so angry at them, at himself too, but they didn’t really blame him.

But then Lia came along, and she didn’t care about who he lived with, and he understood that there were people that would accept him and there were people who would hate him without knowing anything about him. He knows _they’ll_ always be there for him even when no one else will. He thinks he can say he loves them for that. And for taking him in. One day, he hopes he can say all these things out loud but for now, it’s fine. He thinks they understand. 

At their wedding, Ilya had been their ring bearer and he’d been included in all the family pictures. Because that’s what they were, _a family._ He has a family. 

A _weird_ family. But it’s his own and no one can take it away from him.

Later, when he’s walking out of the house to meet with Lia, he passes by the large wedding picture they had hanged on the hallway. They had all looked so happy that day and the picture can only capture half of the emotions they felt.

On that day, Yuri had worn flowers in his hair. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who waited patiently! I'm sorry it took so long but i got kinda busy for a while but i finally manage to finish it.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! and thank you for all you comments, kudos, and bookmarks.  
> drop a comment if you can.  
> stay safe!  
> until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> as always, leave me your thoughts if you can, I always appreciate it!
> 
> anyway, thank you again and stay safe!


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